


Of Poetry and Ajuitars

by Annissa



Category: Doctor Who (2005), The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Crossover, Fluff, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-14
Updated: 2011-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-15 16:12:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annissa/pseuds/Annissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor takes his companions to see Disaster Area.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Poetry and Ajuitars

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to the episode "42" because I thought it would be a Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy crossover and was disappointed when it wasn't.
> 
> Poetry appearing in this story was written by my husband, Justin.

Rose wasn’t quite sure what to think of this trip. The Doctor was taking her to a concert for a band she’d never heard of. A band so loud the audience couldn’t be anywhere near the stage.

“We used to sneak Disaster Area recordings into the Academy!” the Doctor enthused. He moved around the console, flipping switches and pumping what looked to be a bicycle pump. “You, Rose Tyler, are going to love this. The light show alone will be worth the trip!” He ran down the ramp to the doors of the TARDIS, threw both doors wide open, but did not step outside. Rose clapped her hands over her ears as the ship was filled with the cacophony of what sounded almost, but not quite, like wailing guitars and pounding drums.

Rose walked down the ramp and looked out the doors of the TARDIS to see they were hovering miles above a city that closely resembled Manhattan. As she became accustomed to the noise, she lowered her hands from her ears.

 

Martha stepped out of the TARDIS and into the middle of a desert. The rolling hills were featureless save the scrub and rocks.

“Not the most interesting of landscapes, eh?” Martha said, smiling.

“Doesn’t need to be,” the Doctor smiled back and he stepped out beside her, shutting the door behind him. He looked around to get his bearings. “Nobody will be out here to enjoy the scenery anyway. The best sound is in a concrete bunker thirty seven miles from the stage… that way,” he began walking in the direction he’d just pointed.

Martha looked incredulous as she fell in step beside him.

“It’s better than it sounds,” he assured her. “The bunkers are made for comfort. Much nicer than the arenas you humans like to hold concerts in. They even have massive screens to watch the sun explosion! Oh, you are gonna love this!”

“But why does it have to be so loud? Why can’t they turn the volume down a bit so the audience can actually see the band?”

The Doctor’s forehead scrunched in disapproval. “Because if they did that, they wouldn’t be the loudest thing in the Universe,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Don’t the people who live here mind the noise?”

“Not at all. They invited the band to play here. It helps them think.”

“What? How?”

As they walked the Doctor told Martha about the peaceful, enlightened Belcerebon people of Kakrafoon and how they had been cursed with telepathy. “But they weren’t built for telepathy, Martha. They didn’t know how to shield themselves and they began sharing every thought that crossed their minds with every other Belcerebon within a five mile radius! In order to drown out the incessant drone of other people’s thoughts, they began talking. They would talk about anything. Everything! Sports, the weather, what they had for breakfast, clever things their children said the night before. The louder it got, the easier it was to stay inside their own heads. Hosting a Disaster Area concert gives them a break from the talking. They get to keep their thoughts to themselves and we get to see a great show! Everybody wins! And then there are the environmental benefits. Because of this show, the climate will become more temperate and this whole desert will become a flowering paradise that will eventually encompass the entire planet.”

Martha laughed. “How can a concert do all that?”

“Well, there’s a fault under this desert and a river the Belcerebons don’t know about yet. The combination of the noise from the show and the solar flares from the…” The Doctor froze in place, staring at a city in the distance. A city that looked remarkably like Manhattan. He looked behind them and back again at the city. He licked his lips and began digging in his pockets, never taking his eyes off the horizon. “Um, Martha. Do me a favor and put these on. Don’t take them off. Not for anything.”

 

The Doctor slowly opened the TARDIS door and peeked at their surroundings before confidently stepping out.

“Ah, this looks right!”

Donna followed him out of the TARDIS and into the gray, featureless corridor. The Doctor looked around and chose a direction. “All right then. Allons-y!”

Walking beside him, Donna asked, “We’re in a concrete bunker thirty seven miles from where the concert takes place?”

“Yep.” He grinned at her.

“Because the band is too loud for it to be safe to be any closer?”

“Exactly!” His excitement was palpable.

“How is it safe for the musicians to be near the speakers?”

“Oh, they‘re not. They’re in orbit around the planet… well, another planet.”

Donna’s eyes narrowed.

“They play their instruments by remote control.” The Doctor stopped at a wide metal door. “You are gonna love this,” he said grinning as pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Donna could hear a voice through the open doorway. It certainly sounded interesting. Like three men speaking in perfect synchronicity.

“…bloatinalated? The stench of which killed most of the small birds and…”

As Donna stepped into the large chamber, she heard a small gagging noise come from the Doctor and turned to see him throw himself against the nearest wall and slowly slide down, his hands over his ears, eyes screwed shut. Donna rushed to his side letting the door slam shut behind her, the sound echoing throughout the chamber.

 

“Those are the speaker arrays!” the Doctor shouted, pointing down.

“What?!” Rose shouted back.

“The speakers! A whole city of them! We’re high enough to deaden the sound to a tolerable level!”

“Huh?!” Rose replied.

“The atmosphere!” the Doctor shouted, waving his hands wildly to indicate the thin air outside the TARDIS’s atmospheric shell. “It’s too thin to carry much sound!”

“I can’t hear you! The music’s too loud!”

With a wave of his hand and a roll of his eyes the Doctor gave up communicating and turned his attention to the music. Rose watched him as he bobbed his head and occasionally sang along. Disaster Area sounded to her like any other pop band. Their songs were mostly hackneyed love songs replete with the usual boy meets girl clichés, but with many more explosions than were typical of pop songs in Rose‘s time. She supposed the band thought the unnecessary violence made them edgy. With one hand always clasping the edge of the door in order to keep her balance, Rose shouted with the songs and pumped her fist in the air where it seemed appropriate.

Several songs later, she felt the Doctor trying to slip something over her head. A pair of goggles.

“Put these on!” she saw him shout.

 

Martha inspected the big, black earmuffs he’d given her. She started to put them on.

“Oh, and Martha… Run!”

As the muffs surrounded her ears, the sound around her cut out. The Doctor grabbed her hand and started running back the way they had come, following their footsteps in the dust. It didn’t take Martha long to realize what had happened. They’d been walking the wrong direction for twenty minutes. They’d been headed directly toward the sound system for the loudest band - no, the loudest thing - in the Universe. They were in a desert that was about to experience some serious seismic activity and they were out in the open with no shelter.

Martha listened to her breath as it whooshed in and out of her lungs. It was the only sound she could hear through the muffs, until a noise that sounded almost, but not exactly, like an electric guitar ripped through the air. Martha screamed at the noise, startled that it could sound so loud even through the noise-canceling muffs. If it was that loud to her, she worried for the Doctor who had no ear protection at all. She glanced at him and saw his free hand was covering one of his ears and his face was set in a grimace of pain.

The almost-guitar was soon joined by bass and rhythm instruments. The ground beneath their feet shook slightly. She let go of the Doctor’s hand to keep her balance on the unsteady ground. The shaking became more violent and a narrow crack opened in the ground next to her. She stole another look back at the Doctor. He now had both hands over his ears, but this posture was slowing him down. She reached back for him to help him catch up. He looked at her and shook his head. She saw him shout, “Just keep running!” The cracks in the ground were growing wider and more numerous. She began leaping over them as she ran. Steam began pouring out of some of the holes that had opened. Up ahead, she saw the TARDIS straddling a narrow crack that was slowly growing wider.

 

“Doctor! What’s wrong?” Donna shouted, unable to keep the panic from infusing her voice.

“Oh great,” the three-tone voice said. “Now I have to start over.”

Donna heard a grumbling noise coming from all around her. She looked away from the Doctor who was now laying flat on his back, panting quietly, hands still covering his ears. All around her were great, hulking, leathery, green people. Their upturned noses rose above their foreheads and all but the one who was speaking was seated upon gracefully shaped chairs that resembled gazelles. The speaker was standing in front of a microphone on a raised platform in the center of the room.

“Vogons,” the Doctor whimpered. “We’re at a Vogon poetry recital.”

The three-tone voice spoke again, “Seat them!”

The Doctor and Donna were lifted under their arms and hauled by one of the green people to two of the gazelle-chairs. “Resistance is useless!” the guard shouted as he strapped their arms to the gazelle-chairs with thick rubber straps. Donna noted with distaste that the chair didn’t just resemble a gazelle-like creature. It actually was a gazelle-like creature, or, at least, it had been before one of these green people had sat upon it. She could feel its slender bones through its hide and wondered how the green people (did the Doctor call them Vogons?) could stand to sit on them.

The alien on stage began speaking. “My name is Fokatsi Vogon Vost. This one is called ‘To Lohengruttle, on Rutting Day.’”

The Doctor groaned.

“Harken O Gruttle! Did you not hear my enthroatled warble? Did it not…” Donna was shocked to hear a scream from the Doctor and wondered if he’d been injured by one of his chair’s bones.

Vost gave a pointed look to the guard who again shouted “Resistance is useless!” and promptly gagged the Doctor with another yellow rubber strap.

“What do you think you’re doing?” shouted Donna, who was immediately also gagged.

“We’ll be here all day if you keep interrupting,” the guard muttered.

The Doctor emphatically mumbled something through his gag.

Donna was concerned about the Doctor. What was causing him so much pain? She looked around at Vogons. They looked bored and unhappy, but not in pain. Each was staring at Vost, waiting expectantly.

“This one is called ‘To Lohengruttle, on Rutting Day,’” Vost began again. Donna wondered how many times they’d heard this part already.

“Harken O Gruttle! Did you not hear my enthroatled warble? Did it not deafen over the many furred and disgusting animals of the Rutfen?

“Imagine my dismay when a crashing through the bracken you did not. Were my musk pods not engorged? All bloatinalated? The stench of which killed most of the small birds and blinded the others?

“Oh Lohengruttle! We could have collided together in impassioned Frottalogio! Now, when next we meet, I will frump you and your family until my trigger finger is tired.”

Donna stared in shock at Vost. It wasn’t the worst poetry she’d ever heard, but it was close. Surely this was some kind of joke. There had to be a hidden camera around somewhere. The other Vogons muttered appreciatively.

“Thank you. Thank you,” Vost said and tilted his body in an approximation of a bow. “This one is called ‘Going to War Instead of Making it with Walpyrgia.’”

The sound of a soft sob came from the Doctor’s direction.

 

Rose tugged the goggles over her head, adjusting the band to hold them tight to her face. The lenses were inky black and blocked most of the light from the white sun shining down on them. She turned to face the Doctor and dimly saw him wearing an identical pair. As the music reached a mighty crescendo, he pointed towards the sun.

She wondered what he was trying to tell her when a sudden profusion of bright gold, blue, and purple plasma erupted from the upper left side of the sphere. Rose gasped in awe as the swirling mass of color expanded, reaching towards the planet. As the undulating waves of the explosion came ever closer, she took a step back into the safety of the TARDIS. The Doctor placed his hand lightly on her shoulder and she looked up at him. He still wore his lunatic’s grin as he watched the roiling colors start to recede and dissipate.

The lights from the explosion continued to dance as the music ended. She carefully sat down on the TARDIS threshold, dangling her legs outside and continued to watch the licking flames of the solar flares. She felt the Doctor sit down beside her.

“We got here a bit late,” he said, his voice sounding like it was coming from miles away. “But that’s a good excuse to go again!”

Rose grinned and leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. Together they watched the sun continue to roll and boil as it set over the now silent planet.

 

Martha reached the TARDIS before the Doctor did. She used her key to open the door and threw herself in, leaving the door open. She ran up the ramp to the far side of the console and bent over, resting her hands on her knees and tried to catch her breath. The ship shuddered and Martha was thrown back into the railing. She groaned as she tried to right herself. Judging from the angle at which she was standing, the ship had begun to fall into the crevasse opening under it. She crouched down to get her fingers into the grate of the TARDIS floor and began to climb up to the doors.

She’d nearly reached the console when she looked up to see the Doctor jump down through the open door. His feet hit the grating first followed by his bottom. He skidded until he slammed into the console. Martha could only see his hand as it reached up and started flipping some switches on the console. The TARDIS slowly righted itself. As it became level the Doctor stiffly stood and pulled a few levers. Martha stood up out of her crouch and quickly moved towards the door. The din of Disaster Area quieted dramatically as she shut it.

“Doctor?”

He continued moving slowly and stiffly around the console, pressing a button here and turning a wheel there. He looked at the monitor, but he did not respond.

“Doctor, are you ok?” She took off the ear muffs. “Doctor?”

He looked at her.

“Are you ok?” she repeated.

He looked a little surprised.

“Martha?” Even through the ringing in her ears, his voice sounded too loud.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t mean to disappoint,” he shouted, “But I think we’re going to have to see Disaster Area some other time. I seem to have lost my hearing.”

 

“Don’t hassle me now Walpyrgia, My battle chaps I must find. I must go kill these guys instead of frottaging your filthy borbos.

“Yes, you want me to stay and make it, but I don’t want to miss killing that first guy. If it helps, picture me bludgeoning him as hard as I throttle your gllobulas.

“Just remember, I couldn’t be as lusty craven with you, if I didn’t get my rock beating other people up first.”

Donna listened as the Vogons in the room muttered once again. She sneaked a glance at the Doctor who wore a grimace and… was that a tear on his cheek? She had to get him out of here.

Vost continued, “The newcomers will now present their poem.” He gestured to the guard who removed Donna’s gag and released her from her bonds.

Donna looked at the Doctor who now had his eyes open, watching her, seeming to plead with her to get him out. Slowly, she rose from the collapsed carcass of the animal she’d been tied to and walked towards the platform Vost had just vacated. The guard moved to stand behind the Doctor and made subtle threatening motions with his meaty-looking hands.

“You, uh, want to hear a poem?” she asked.

“That is the point of a poetry reading,” Vost replied shortly.

Donna racked her brain and wished she’d paid more attention in school. She couldn’t think of a single poem, rhyming couplet, or limerick. But there was one thing…

“Um,” Donna started. “This one is called ‘Fix you.’” She started at the beginning and recited the lyrics as though they were poetry. She glanced at the Doctor and was dismayed to see that his situation was not improving. She wondered if she should have chosen a shorter song. She finished the lyrics and was relieved to see the Doctor’s body relax a little, some of his pain seeming to recede.

Vost joined her on the platform and shouldered her away from the microphone. “Hmph. With a title like ‘Fix you,’ I thought it would be better.” Vost motioned to the Doctor and the guard. “Release him.” The rubber bands were removed from the Doctor’s body and he jumped to his feet, grabbed Donna’s hand, and walked quickly back to the metal door through which they had entered.

The door closed behind them and the Doctor continued walking quickly towards the TARDIS.

“Are you feeling alright?” Donna asked. “Do you still want to see your concert?”

The Doctor put his key in the TARDIS door and stopped to consider her question. After a moment he replied, “I‘m always alright.” He stepped inside the blue box. “I’m concerned about you, actually.”

“Me? I wasn’t the one crying in there!”

“Of all of the poetry in your species’ history you could have chosen to recite, you chose Coldplay?”

“Oi!”

“I think I’m done with Disaster Area. Let’s go meet Shel Silverstein. I bet he’s brilliant!”

 

Theta stood alone in the gray concrete corridor listening to the Universe‘s Loudest Anything play one of Koschei‘s favorite songs. This had been their opportunity to escape the stifling atmosphere of the Academy. Theta had made it. Where was Koschei? Had he been caught? Had he decided not to come?

Theta fiddled with the manipulator around his wrist. It had been useful in getting to the concert, but he felt like a child wearing it. It was beneath him and he hated it. Was that why Koschei hadn’t come? Too embarrassed to use such a juvenile bit of black market technology? Theta pulled his sleeve over the manipulator, hiding it from anyone who might pass by. Being caught wearing one would be humiliating.

Maybe Koschei had found a better way to get there. Maybe he’d borrowed a TARDIS? Nah, impossible. Even if he could get his hands on one, he’d never be able to fly it. Unless… well, maybe. One day…

He considered going inside the auditorium. There would be chairs and a light show and he could enjoy the music. Well, actually, he could enjoy the music just fine from where he was, but that wasn’t the point. This was supposed to have been a group activity and he was missing it waiting in a hallway for someone who may not even show. It was a shame. Koschei would have loved this. They were playing the song he had mastered on the ajuitar.

Theta sighed. It was no good. He input the return coordinates into vortex manipulator on his wrist and returned to the Academy. It was no fun alone.


End file.
